


Out into the Woods

by oceanbluecas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bird Watching, Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Team Free Will 2.0, Texting, disgustingly domestic, divergent from s13e06 Tombstone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 04:52:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13710234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanbluecas/pseuds/oceanbluecas
Summary: When Cas takes Jack off somewhere secluded to teach him how to control his powers, Dean's left at home feeling disappointed. Hejustgot Cas back, and now the distance feels worse than it ever has. They talk daily, easing the ache in Dean's chest a little, but everything changes when Cas sends The Text. It's up to Dean to figure out what to do with it.





	Out into the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [DeanCas Hey Sweetheart Challenge](http://deancas-sweetheart.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr. Beta’d by the phenomenal [yugokitari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yugokitari).
> 
> Rebloggable tumblr post [here](http://oceanbluecas.tumblr.com/post/170968033864/title-out-into-the-woods-author-oceanbluecas).

  


>> Hello, Dean.  
   
<< Hey, Cas.  
   
Dean gazes down at his phone, relief flooding him at the simplest words. The bunker is quiet, the kitchen freshly cleaned around him. He places the last few dishes in their place, sets the sponge aside, then wipes his hands dry. His phone pings with another message.  
   
>> I apologize for taking so long to contact you. We ran into a hiccup.  
   
Dean glares at nothing in particular, fingers flying furiously across the small keyboard.  
   
<< Angels? Demons? Are you guys alright?  
   
A small icon pops up, indicating Cas typing out a reply. Dean leans back against the counter and waits. God, he hates that they’re so far away. He _just_ got Cas back. If anything happens—  
   
A new text appears.  
   
>> We blew a tire.  
>> These back country roads are not easy to navigate. There are so many potholes, and people dump trash on the side of the road. At some point on the way here, I ran over a nail.  
   
A laugh bubbles up in Dean’s throat, and he lets it out. Cas had chosen the crappiest vehicle on the used car lot, saying he liked the faded green paint and leather seats. The sedan had grumbled and groaned when Dean went back that night to highjack it, leaving a small wad of cash in the office as per Cas’s request. He found over the years that he’d do a lot of strange things for Cas. Stealing a used car and paying for it in the same night is pretty minor compared to others.  
   
<< Told you that car was gonna be a pain. You okay now? Need me to drive up there and fix it?  
   
He bites his lip. Maybe he’s coming off a little desperate. Cas and Jack had only left two days ago. It hasn’t been _that_ long, yet here he is, feeling the distance between them. It’s a dull ache in his chest, but he pushes it down. He can deal.  
   
>> I like the car, Dean. There’s no need to trouble yourself. We’re fine. A kind farmer came by and helped us. He took us to buy a new tire and installed it for us. :)  
   
Dean snorts, amused at how short a time it took for Cas so send an emoticon. It was cute, if dorky. He pauses before typing out this reply though, unsure how to ask the sensitive question on the tip of his tongue. Then he chides himself for his hesitance, typing out the words and getting right to the point.  
   
<< Any issues with Jack?  
   
The reply is immediate.  
   
>> No, Dean. He’s been good.  
   
Perhaps Dean’s imagining the scorn in the text, but he feels sheepish anyway. Regardless, the question hadn’t been unwarranted. Jack and Cas had left _because_ Jack had issues. Dodge City had been fantastic until it wasn’t. The town’s history, the Stampede Motel, an excuse to wear his boots and hat, Cas at his side—Dean had been ecstatic, but when Jack tried to help during the shootout, accidentally killing a security guard, Dean’s mood was soured.  
   
He knew the kid hadn’t meant to do it, of course. He understood Jack better now, saw Jack for what he really was: terrified of his own powers, lost, and most of all, not evil. It had taken the sight of Cas wrapping the boy in his arms, the way Jack held onto Cas for a little longer than necessary, for Dean to see it.  
   
_“He told me that Cas is his father, Dean.”_  
   
Sam’s words had echoed in Dean’s mind then, and all he could see while watching the two hug was a scared son clinging to a father who’d been gone too long. Dean knew exactly how Jack was feeling in that moment. He himself had been there many times as a child with John. It hurt, in no small way, to know that Jack had been doing the best he could while suffering the loss of not one but _both_ parents.  
   
God, Dean had been such a dick to the kid.  
   
After Dodge City, the tension between the four of them had been thick. Jack was torn up about it, and after Dean’s return to the bunker, the kid’s inner turmoil spilled out. Dean feared the Jack was gonna bolt, didn’t know what to do to stop him, and then Jack raised his hand, eyes eerily glowing. Before Dean could process, Cas was out of his seat and yanking Jack into a tight embrace.  
   
And Jack lowered his hand. His eyes returned to normal. Cas was whispering in his ear, things neither Dean nor Sam could hear, and then Jack buried his face in Cas’s neck, arms coming up around Cas, fists gripping the trench coat.  
   
The room was quiet, just the sound of their breathing. Dean and Sam exchanged looks. Sam’s seemed to say, _We just dodged a bullet._ Dean agreed, eyes darting back to Jack and Cas. The angel was still whispering, the kid nodding against his shoulder. Time passed.  
   
Then the two were pulling apart and Jack was walking away, disappearing into the corridor leading to the bedrooms. Cas sighed after him, then told Sam and Dean his plan: take Jack somewhere isolated, away from anyone he could harm, where Cas would do his best to teach Jack to control his powers. Cas, being more durable than any human, would be the only one at risk. He didn’t know how long it would take, but neither he nor Jack were willing to risk the Winchester’s safety any longer.  
   
Dean had argued, at first. Of course he had. Sam tried to back him up, but ultimately, Sam sided with Cas. Logic said the angel was right, that this was the best thing for Jack. Cas would put up wards and protect the kid. Cas would _teach_ the kid. He was the only one Dean trusted to do both. He and Sam were human, didn’t have any clue how to manage celestial power, no matter how hard they tried, and they were more vulnerable than Cas. Really, it was the only viable solution on the table.  
   
That didn’t mean Dean had to like it. He’d bitched and moaned right up until Cas was throwing dufflebags in the trunk of his new used car. Then Jack was hugging him and his brother goodbye, climbing in the passenger seat, and Dean was at a loss for words. Cas was leaving him again.  
   
As if he could sense Dean’s thoughts, Cas wrapped him up tight in his arms, promised to call and text when he could. He promised to _come back_. Then the car was rolling away, growing smaller in the distance, Sam patting him on the shoulder before heading back into the bunker.  
   
Now, two days later, after he’d cleaned half the bunker top to bottom to keep his worry at bay, he’s standing in the kitchen holding his phone in his hand like a lifeline. He doesn’t know what to say now that he’s finally talking to Cas again.  
   
His phone pings.  
   
>> Sorry. It’s been a long day. I know you’re just worried. :(  
   
Dean smiles.  
   
<< Nah, man. It’s my bad. Did you find the cabin alright?  
   
>> Yes. It’s very secluded. Rufus chose his safe house well.  
   
<< Everything work? Power on? Water?  
   
>> It’s all in working order.  
   
They talk for a bit longer. Dean feels his lips tipping into a smile more than once. He makes and eats a sandwich while they talk, washes his dishes, and is just putting away the peanut butter when Cas says goodbye for the day. It’s with no little disappointment that Dean goes to find Sam, hoping to play the role of annoying big brother to ease the dull ache as he shoves his phone back in his pocket.  
   
He isn’t expecting it the next day, when his phone buzzes in his pocket while he’s in line at the grocery store.  
   
>> Hello, Dean.  
   
<< Hey, Cas.  
   
Cas talks about Jack. Dean talks about his favorite brand of breakfast cereal. Conversation flows easily between them, ending later that night with Dean laying in his bed, headphones softly playing Zeppelin in his ears and phone attached to the charger.  
   
Surprisingly, it happens again the very next morning.  
   
>> Hello, Dean.  
   
<< Hey, Cas.  
   
It becomes part of Dean’s routine. They talks less some days than others, both of them busy. Dean and Sam hunt a couple of ghouls and then take out a nest of vampires right after. With Castiel’s guidance, Jack’s now able to levitate not just a pencil, but most anything. It’s a couple weeks and he and Cas left, and Jack’s chatting Sam’s ear off about it, listing everything he’s made float so far—including Castiel himself.  
   
Dean and Sam roar with laughter. Over the tiny speaker, Dean can make out Castiel huffing in the background, and Dean can easily picture the face he’s probably making. He’d be rolling his eyes, lips tilted in a fond smile. Dean misses him.  
   
His phone lights up with a new message, and he picks it up from the table. Sam and Jack continue chatting over speaker phone in the war room, but Dean wanders away, finding himself alone in the corridor, smiling down at the text.  
   
>> Hello, Dean.  
   
<< Hey, Cas.  
   
Dean’s not sure when it happened, but at some point, the simple greetings they regularly exchange became a comfort to him. The words are almost a balm for the ache caused by the distance between them. No matter what time of day or where they’re at, it’s always the same. That why, when it changes on an average Friday night, Dean notices immediately. He’s lounging in bed, scrolling through Wikipedia articles, when his phone buzzes with The Text. The sight of it is suddenly and entirely unexpected. His jaw goes slack as he stares at the seemingly innocuous text.  
   
>> Hello, Dear.  
   
He doesn’t even know how to respond. _What_ would he respond with? Cas has never called him by anything other than his name. Sure, there were titles from back in the day—Righteous Man, Michael Sword, etc—but never anything like this. It had to be a mistake. _It’s probably a typo,_ Dean tells himself, ignoring the way his flip-flopping stomach sours at the thought. He swallows past his tight throat and types out his usual reply.  
   
<< Hey, Cas.  
   
And that’s that. Conversation goes on as usual, Cas not once mentioning the slip up. Dean’s clenching his jaw, nervously sweating through the entire twenty-two minute talk, but Cas seems the same as usual. There’s talk about the progress Jack made that day, Dean’s plans for breakfast tomorrow, a colorful bird Cas saw recently, and it’s normal. It’s short since Dean has to be up early, promises to Sam about Farmers’ Markets meaning an early start tomorrow, and Dean sets his phone on the nightstand shortly after The Text arrived.  
   
It takes until Tuesday afternoon for Dean to get over it, deciding it was definitely a typo or one of those autocorrect horror stories. He’s tired from driving all day, from getting too little sleep tossing The Text around in his head, from the boring podcast Sam had forced him to endure during the last couple hours. The motel mattress is lumpy underneath him, his feet dangling off the edge while Sam takes a shower. Dean’s determined to get in a nap before they have to do the FBI charade down at the local bar, where they’ll talk to a woman who claims to have a possessed baby. Until then, sleep is calling his name.  
   
On Wednesday morning, they conclude that the baby is fine but that a witch is messing with the mother’s head, and by Thursday, the witch is taken care of. Sam waves back at the woman and the baby in her arms as the brothers drive away. Dean sees at her smile in his rearview and feels a small bit of satisfaction for what they’ve accomplished. When they stop for gas on the way out of town, Dean lets Sam take the wheel. It’s a two day drive back to Lebanon, and Dean wants a nap. Instead, he settles into the passenger seat and pulls out his phone.  
   
<< Hey, Cas.  
   
He doesn’t expect a quick reply, and he doesn’t get one. He wakes up later to the sounds of rush hour traffic and Sam’s damn podcast. Horns honk and the obscure scholar drones on. He’s not sure where they are and doesn’t bother asking. Traffic isn’t moving and Sam has his bitchface on. Saying anything would be a bad idea at the moment.  
   
So Dean yawns, stretches as best he can in the cramped space, and checks his phone. He sucks in a breath at the message on his screen.  
   
>> Hello, Dear.  
   
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Cas sent The Text _again_. Did that mean the first time was intentional? Or was this second time another mistake? Dean feels his cheeks heating up, and he shoots a quick glance at Sam like his brother would know the whirlwind happening in Dean’s head. Sam’s glaring at the car in front of them, finger tapping impatiently against the wheel, completely oblivious. Dean looks back at his phone and types.  
   
<< Hey, Cas.  
   
>> How was the hunt?  
   
Dean sighs, shoulders slumping in relief. Crisis averted. It _had_ to be a typo. And he continues thinking that for days, repeating it to himself like a mantra anytime The Text crosses his mind. Another hunt, then a Skype call with the celestial half of Team Free Will 2.0, and everything is normal. No one acts funny. Sure, Cas’s grainy image was smiling fondly at Dean from the laptop, but that probably didn’t mean anything.  
   
But then it happens again. And again. And again.  
   
>> Hello, Dear.  
   
It’s been two and a half months. By now, Dean’s lost count of the times Cas has sent The Text. He certainly hasn’t gotten used to it yet, but he doesn’t have an internal panic at the sight of the greeting anymore, either. It still sends butterflies aflutter in his stomach every damn time, but he comes to the conclusion that he kinda, maybe, sorta _likes_ it.  
   
He stares at the message, cursor blinking back at him. Cas never acknowledges it when he sends The Text, but neither does Dean. He has a lot of questions, some doubts and a few fears, but no answers. Ignoring that it happened— _keeps_ happening—isn’t getting anyone anywhere. He’s alone in the bunker, Sam out for a supply run, and he’s a few beers into a night off work. Feeling bold, he types and hits the send button before he can think twice about it.  
   
<< Hey, sweetheart.  
   
He’s given Cas nicknames before, but always in jest, so if things get weird, he can always play it off as a joke. But he kinda hopes it _doesn’t_ get weird.  
   
A bubble pops up on the screen, indicating Cas is typing. It disappears, reappears, disappears, then comes back again.  
   
>> Are you home yet? I hope the hunt went well.  
   
Laughter bursts out of Dean, his head thrown back as relief floods his system. He can’t believe this. Cas isn’t even phased. Of course not. Dean gleefully replies something about the hunt and grins at Cas’s emoticon response. The conversation itself isn’t anything special, but Dean’s giggling by the time Sam gets back. He blames the alcohol, Sam blames Cas, and Dean goes to bed smiling that night.  
   
The Text gets sent more often, but now Dean has a defense mechanism. At least, that’s what he’s calling the Sweetheart Text. They go back and forth with it, sending the stupid terms of endearment to each other with increasing frequency while simultaneously acting like nothing out of the ordinary is happening at all. They act like they usually do during calls and Skype sessions. Dean would think he dreamed it all if it weren’t right there on his phone. All he has to do these days is scroll up to see one, two, three—seemingly infinite texts that all say the same thing.  
   
>> Hello, Dear.  
   
<< Hey, sweetheart.  
   
The warm and fuzzies in Dean’s chest stopped feeling out of place weeks ago. He anticipates it, even looks forward to it. If he thinks too hard on why he likes it, he finds that he’s not surprised, but he doesn’t dig too deep into it. He simply enjoys it as it is. It’s a small thing, hurting no one and disrupting nothing. Each day goes by as always, with hunts and research and the search to find a way to save his mom. Cas’s corner of the world seems to be going well, too. Jack has better control over himself, Cas is filling the role of proud parent nicely, and both have a newfound appreciation for the extended _Lord of the Rings_ movies. Life is pretty good at the moment, actually.  
   
Dean doesn’t trust it.  
   
When the other shoe drops, he’s ready for it. The angels tear up a diner not far from where Cas and Jack are in an effort to find Jack. The God Squad probably doesn’t even realize how close they are, but Dean and Sam pack up anyway. They investigate the town, kill a couple lingering angels, and send warnings to Cas.  
   
<< Hey, sweetheart.  
   
Dean wipes sweat off his brow and flops down into the dirt. Sam takes up the shovel and starts digging where Dean left off. They just need a little deeper, and they can bury the bodies. His phone pings with Cas’s response.  
   
>> Hello, Dear.  
>> Everything alright?  
   
<< Only one human killed, but they managed to injure most everyone in the diner. I don’t know how many there were, but we found two angels still here.  
   
>> Did they talk?  
   
<< One wouldn’t shut up. Kept saying Jack is gonna make new angels or some shit.  
   
>> He most certainly is not.  
   
<< Yeah but they want him to.  
   
>> Too bad.  
   
Dean snorts. Cas’s feathers are ruffled over this, understandably, and he’s not gonna sit back and let his brethren take advantage of Jack. He’s pissed and delightfully mouthy about it.  
   
<< I don’t think they know where you guys are.  
   
Cas’s relief comes through when he responds.  
   
>> Thank you. I’m glad.  
   
<< This is the diner you guys stopped at on the way there, right?  
   
>> Unfortunately. I don’t understand how they picked up on that.  
   
<< Me neither. Just be careful, okay?  
   
>> We’ll take precautions. I won’t let them have Jack.  
   
“Hey, Dean?”  
   
Dean glances up, squinting against the afternoon sun as he looks at his brother. Sam is soaked in sweat, his t-shirt sticking to his skin and his too-long hair plastered to his forehead.  
   
“What?”  
   
Sam pushes the shovel into Dean’s hands. “Think we should go see Cas and Jack?”  
   
It’s a simple question, but fuck if Dean isn’t instantly a bundle of nerves after hearing it. His eyes go wide, his mouth falls open, and his cheeks heat up. He can talk to Cas, sure, but seeing him _in person_ after all the times he sent The Text?  
   
Sam raises an eyebrow. “Dean?”  
   
Dean blinks. He tries to cover his reaction with a cough and more digging, but he turns to find that the hole is already dug, and the bodies are already in it. Sam’s just waiting for Dean to light ‘em up. He drops the shovel and digs around in his pocket for the matches. He doesn’t look at Sam, just throws a lit one into the pit and watches the flames react to the kerosene. Fire blazes, and he steps back.  
   
He tries for casual when he speaks. “Why’d we do that?”  
   
“Why wouldn’t we?” Sam asks, frowning.  
   
Dean shrugs. He doesn’t have a good answer.  
   
“They’re less than a three hour drive from here. We could get there before sunset,” Sam goes on, “And we haven’t seen them in a long time. I think we’ll be okay with Jack for a couple days. Cas says he’s gotten a lot better, and besides, we can help put up extra warding.”  
   
There’s no arguing with Sam’s logic. Cas readily agrees, and before Dean knows it, he driving to Whitefish, Montana. The Impala engine purrs as he steers her down the highway, Sam staring out the window moodily listening to an audiobook biography about some serial killer, and Dean is _not freaking out_.  
   
He chews on his bottom lip until it’s sore, taps his fingers against the wheel, and glares at the empty road. He switches on the radio, earning himself a dirty look from his brother, but he needs _something_ to calm him. Wordlessly, he compromises with Sam by turning the volume down a bit while his brother fishes out some earbuds. Sam resumes his window gazing, and Dean feels himself slowly relaxing to the sounds of the road and Metallica’s guitar.  
   
He begins to think about The Text. It started out innocent enough. It was a greeting like any other, just more affectionate than Dean’s used to. Really, it’s the term of endearment that threw him off, but maybe Cas was testing the waters the first few times. Dean hadn’t shown any indication that he disliked it, so it kept coming.  
   
Maybe Cas didn’t know what it did to Dean.  
   
Or maybe he _did_ , and that’s why he kept sending The Text. Or maybe this is another example of Cas’s social skills, thinking he’s being friendly when he’s really misunderstanding what he’s doing altogether. That could be it, but Dean doubts it, ad if it were, Dean probably made the situation all the more complicated with the Sweetheart Text. Hell, he knows he did.  
   
A thought strikes him, and Dean nudges Sam with his elbow.  
   
“What?” Sam grumbles, yanking an earbud out.  
   
“When’s the last time you texted Cas?” Dean asks nonchalantly.  
   
Sam narrows his eyes at Dean. “I don’t know. A couple hours ago?”  
   
“And before this angel hunt?”  
   
“Few days before that?”  
   
Sam sounds unsure, but Dean forges on. “What’s he say to you?”  
   
Ignoring the question, Sam asks, “What’s this about, Dean?”  
   
Dean shrugs, trying to act like he doesn’t care as much as he does. “Just curious about somethin’. What’s he say?”  
   
“Uh,” Sam grunts, digging out his phone, “Usually just updates on Jack and sometimes we talk about lore. I pick his brain a lot.”  
   
“Read me some texts.”  
   
“Dude.” Sam sounds offended now.  
   
Dean sighs. “I don’t need to hear your private conversations about hair care and workout routines. Just the basics.”  
   
“What does that even _mean?”_  
   
“What’s he say when he texts you?” Dean huffs, frustrated. “Is it casual? ‘Hey, Sam’? ‘Hi, Sam’?”  
   
“What are you—”  
   
“Just answer me,” Dean pushes. He’s probably made Sam all sorts of suspicious by now, but he’s too far in to give up now.  
   
“You mean how he greets me?”  
   
Sam is definitely confused, maybe a bit agitated. Dean nods.  
   
“Urgh,” Sam grumbles, scrolling through his texts. “‘Hello, Sam’. That’s it.”  
   
“Anything else?”  
   
There’s some eye rolling and more scrolling, but then Sam answers. “No. Just that.”  
   
“Not even a single ‘Sammy’?”  
   
“Geeze, no, Dean. Now will you tell me what this is about?”  
   
Dean shrugs. “Nothin’. I told you. Now go back to your book, nerd.”  
   
And there’s the bitchface, right on cue. “Dean, what—”  
   
Dean cranks up the volume on the radio and yells over it, “What? I can’t hear you!”  
   
He gets an epic eyeroll for this and endures a glare, but eventually Sam does go back to his book and Dean is left to his own devices. In this case, that’s warring thoughts, confusion, mild panic, and a ticking clock. There’s less than an hour until they arrive at Rufus’s cabin, and he’s gotta figure out how he’s gonna handle seeing Cas in person by then. He needs a plan of attack. Cas could be like normal, or Cas could do all sorts of things that warm his heart and set butterflies loose in his gut. He needs to be prepared, both offensively and defensively.  
   
By the time he pulls up behind Cas’s crappy sedan, he’s ready.  
   
Sam is first out the car, stretching long limbs and tucking his earbuds away. Dean follows suit, rounding the vehicle to the trunk. He’s tossing Sam his dufflebag when the front door opens, slinging his own around his shoulder when Jack steps out, and closing the trunk when Cas follows suit.  
   
Jack makes a beeline for Sam, wrapping him up in a cautious hug. Dean smiles at the sight, somehow pleased that Lucifer’s spawn adores his baby brother—and that’s a thought he never imagined he’d be having. Sam seems just as pleased, grinning as they pull apart, listening to Jack chatter on.  
   
Dean turns to find Cas approaching him, a smile teasing his lips. Dean swallows and tightens his jaw in determination.  
   
“Hello, De—”  
   
Dean cuts him off, saying what he has to say quickly. “Hey, sweetheart.”  
   
Cas’s eyes widen, and for a moment Dean feels smug to have caught him off guard, but then the smile is back, softer somehow, fonder.  
   
“Hello, dear.”  
   
Like the first time Cas sent The Text, Dean sucks in a breath and stares. He feels his own smile tugging at his lips, tries to force it down, and probably fails.  
   
They stay like that, standing a few feet apart and not quite smiling at each other, for long enough that Sam notices.  
   
“Hey, uh…” His brother sounds unsure of himself. “We’re, uh, gonna go inside now, so…”  
   
The words break Dean and Cas out of whatever trance they’d locked themselves into. Dean nods.  
   
“Of course,” Cas says, shooting a gummy smile at Sam. He steps forward and hugs Dean as if they hadn’t just had a too-long staring contest and relieves him of his bag. Then Sam gets a hug, and Dean gets one from Jack, and then they’re all inside the cabin.  
   
The evening flies by. Cas tries to cook them dinner, but Dean steps in before that becomes the disaster it inevitably would be. His Save-the-Day moment morphs into a cooking lesson, because Cas is too stubborn to back down. He’s not even sure what Sam and Jack got up to while they prepared the meal, but they all sat at the table to eat when it was ready. After dinner, they play a few games—Cas is great at poker, but Dean’s better at Monopoly, and Sam kicks everyone’s ass at Trivial Pursuit. Jack seems to be enjoying himself, if not slightly confused by the games, but he learns quickly enough.  
   
When the clock chimes midnight, Sam turns in. Jack borrows Dean’s laptop and Netflix password, then disappears into another room. Dean and Cas clean up the mess from the impromptu game night wordlessly.  
   
Dean’s always liked that about Cas. He never talks needlessly, and Dean never feels pressured to fill the silence with him. Cas is content with Dean’s company, the occasional brush of shoulders as they pass each other in the kitchen or the steady rhythm of their breathing. They exchange glances now and then, the quiet following them as they settle on the sofa.  
   
There’s a stack of books on the coffee table, and Dean looks through them. They’re mostly fantasy novels—Jack’s favorite genre—and Dean smiles at the battered copy of _The Hobbit_.  
   
“I liked this one,” Cas says, holding a paperback out to Dean. “The protagonist reminded me of you.”  
   
Dean takes it and leans back into the cushions, turning to the first page. Cas picks up another book, opening it and removing the bookmark before settling in beside him. Dean can feel the warmth radiating off of Cas. He leans into it a bit, and Cas shuffles a little closer still. The silence keeps on, and Dean loses himself to the comfort of Cas at his side.  
   
The sunlight shining through the window the next morning is unwelcome. It seems the universe wants Dean awake, but he disagrees. He grumbles and turns away from the light, pressing his face into the cushions. Memories from the night before filter into his consciousness, explaining why he’s on the couch and not in a bed.  
   
He’s oddly disappointed to be waking up alone.  
   
Eventually, he sits up and rubs his eyes. There’s a blanket draped over him—courtesy of Cas, no doubt—and the scent of coffee in the air. A little exploring finds a pot fresh in the kitchen, and a peek out the window reveals Sam and Cas setting up a bird feeder in one of the trees.  
   
“Cas made that for you.”  
   
Dean jumps and whirls around, finding Jack right behind him. “Geeze, kid. Wear a bell.”  
   
“What?”  
   
“What?”  
   
Jack tilts his head. “The coffee. Cas made it for you.”  
   
“Oh.” Dean lifts his mug in an unspoken toast. “I appreciate it.”  
   
“He said I couldn’t have any until you did. Can I have some now?”  
   
“You drink coffee?” Dean asks, baffled.  
   
“I want to try it.”  
   
“Oh, okay.” Dean turns and pulls down a second mug, then fills it half way before handing it off to Jack. “What d’ya think?”  
   
Jack takes a sip, face scrunching up in displeasure.  
   
Dean takes the mug back. “Bitter?”  
   
“Why do you like that? It’s unpleasant.”  
   
Chuckling, Dean pulls out some milk and sugar. He fixes up the coffee, turning it a creamy color. He takes a sip, testing it, and finds it ridiculously sweet.  
   
Perfect.  
   
He hands it back to Jack. “Try it now.”  
   
Squinting, Jack takes another cautious sip. Then he takes another, eyes lighting up. “This, I like.”  
   
Snorting in amusement, Dean goes back to his own black coffee. “Thought you would.”  
   
The sincerity in Jack’s expression surprises Dean.  
   
“Thank you.”  
   
“Yeah,” Dean mutters, blushing, “No problem.”  
   
“Will you fix me a cup, as well?” Cas asks, coming in the back door and setting a bag of bird food on the counter. Dean doesn’t even realize he’s smiling until Cas smiles back at him.  
   
“Is there any tea here?” Sam asks, coming in right behind Cas. “I’d like some. It’s a little chilly outside this morning.”  
   
Dean grumbles but gets to work feeding his family. He makes a quick breakfast of oatmeal and toast, passing out warm drinks around the small table. Someone turns the radio onto the local rock station. There’s a bit of static, but it’s clear enough that Dean’s soon humming along. Sam and Cas work on fresh wards for the cabin, and Jack watches Dean intently as he does the dishes. When Dean starts cleaning other parts of the kitchen—because Cas is all sorts of amazing things, but a housekeeper, he is not—Jack helps.  
   
At some point in the day, it’s decided that Dean and Sam would be staying for the weekend. Sam seems like he expects Dean to argue and probably has a counter-argument at the ready, but Dean likes the idea of a weekend away, secluded in the wilderness with the celestials—with Cas. After the wardings are put up, there won’t be anything for them to do but relax, and they all need it. That’s what he tells himself, anyway, as he wanders away from Sam’s suspicious expression and Jack’s bafflement.  
   
He ends up outside, rounding the corner of the cabin to see Cas carving a small sigil into the siding. He approaches just as Cas finishes, rising from his crouch and tucking the pocket knife away.  
   
“Hello, De—”  
   
Dean panics at what he _knows_ was coming and blurts, “Hey, sweetheart.”  
   
Cas tilts his head and smiles fondly. “Hello, dear.”  
   
Just like that, Dean’s grinning. He nudges Cas in this side and nods toward the bird feeder. “That the one you were telling me about?”  
   
A small bird perches on the edge of the feeder, pecking away at the treats. It’s movements are graceful, the afternoon sunlight shining through the branches landing on it just so, emphasizing it’s blue-tipped grey feathers. As the bird hops around, Dean can make out the more subtle blue tint to the rest of her, and his smile softens. He imagines that if he could see Cas’s wings, his feathers would be a similar color.  
   
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Cas says, standing close at Dean’s side. “She’s a _Sialia currucoides_ , more commonly known as a mountain bluebird. There’s several of her species in the area, but she’s the first one I spotted, back when Jack and I first came here.”  
   
“That why you wanted a bird feeder?”  
   
“Yes.” Cas’s voice is soft, lowered so as not to scare the bird away. “I like watching them when I get the chance.”  
   
Dean’s never been interested in bird watching, and before this moment, he never would’ve cared, but as he takes in the peaceful look on Cas’s face, he thinks that he could spend hours doing this, waiting and watching birds, if it were with Cas. There’s been a similar vein of thoughts pass through his mind the past few years, all centered around Cas, so he’s not surprised at it. It’s the next words out of his own mouth that startle him.  
   
“We could this weekend,” he says calmly, hopefully, “Take a small hike, maybe something to munch on, find a nice spot with a good view of the trees.”  
   
He has no idea what he’s doing, why he’s basically inviting Cas to go on a nature walk complete with cliche picnic and scenic view. He didn’t think, just spoke, and now Cas is looking at him with a barely there upward tilt to his lips and affection in his gaze.  
   
“I’d like that,” Cas answers, looking straight at Dean.  
   
And fuck if Dean’s grin isn’t back, despite his tense shoulders and sweating palms. He wipes them on his jeans and looks back at the bluebird. “How about tomorrow morning? I know you don’t eat, but you drink coffee, and I could make some fresh, bring some sugar and—”  
   
A hand lands on Dean’s shoulder, cutting off his rambling. “That would be wonderful, Dean.”  
   
Later, Cas makes plans to go for a supply run. They need more food for the weekend than there is at the cabin, and Sam offers to accompany him to the nearest town. Knowing they’ll be gone for a while, since there’s nothing relatively close by, Dean takes the time to introduce Jack to a few of Dean’s favorite movies (not that he would admit it  outloud). It seems to take Jack a moment to get used to the animation, but soon enough, he’s hooked on the whimsical story unfolding on the small laptop screen.  
   
They’ve finished _Spirited Away_ and are halfway through _Howl’s Moving Castle_ and a box of vanilla wafers when they hear the Impala rumbling down the long dirt road. Dean doesn’t bother pausing the movie, patting Jack on the shoulder as he stands to go meet his brother and his angel. Jack stays planted on the sofa, not tearing his eyes away from the screen as Howl rescues Sophie from the king’s advisor.  
   
Dean’s standing by Cas’s sedan, thinking it needs a wash, when his car comes to a stop behind it. He waves to the two in the front seat and makes his way to the trunk. Sam comes to unlock it, grabbing an armful of groceries. Dean pulls a few more bags out and hands them to Cas. “Hey, sweetheart. How was the ride?”  
   
Cas’s fingers linger against Dean’s for a moment too long, but then he takes the bags. “Hello, dear. It was a pleasant trip. No problems or suspicious encounters.”  
   
Dean grabs the beer and closes the trunk, hoping Cas can’t see how red his face is in the dark. He wasn’t even thinking, had just _said_ the affectionate words to Cas on impulse. And Cas had said some _back_. Dean didn’t know what to do with this, how to react to Cas’s touch or the way he’s asking Dean if he’s okay, the concern in his eyes that Dean can’t look away from, and Cas is speaking again, and Dean—  
   
Dean blinks. “Sorry, what?”  
   
Cas grips Dean’s bicep. “I asked if you’re alright.”  
   
“Oh, yeah, no, I’m fine.” Dean shrugs and forces a smile, pretending he wasn’t just freaking out a little bit. “Just got the chills.”  
   
“Dean, it’s midsummer.” Cas places his palm against Dean’s forehead. “Are you coming down with something? We can postpone our hike if you need to rest.”  
   
The idea of not going is too depressing for Dean to handle. He _wants_ to spend that time with Cas, and he hates seeing the worry in Cas’s expression. Dean needs to get his shit together. Cas has always been more affectionate than he or Sam, and yeah the endearments are new, but Dean _likes_ them, likes the new way he and Cas are interacting now—the same but different. He can’t explain what it is, just that it’s better, warmer—and Dean’s gonna ruin all of it because he’s freaked out over nothing.  
   
So Dean tries something else new. Usually he’d bat Cas’s hand away and brush off his concern, but he doesn’t want to this time. Rather, he wants to touch Cas, console him, and that’s what he does.  
   
Taking Cas’s hand in his own, Dean gives it a gentle squeeze and looks Cas in the eye. “I really am okay, Cas. Just… being stupid, I guess.”  
   
Cas’s other hand comes up to grip Dean’s, and it’s officially a chick flick moment. Cas doesn’t seem to notice. “You’re not stupid, Dean. Whatever it is—”  
   
And here, Dean can’t help zeroing in on the way Cas licks his lips, signaling the angel’s own nerves but igniting something else in Dean. At the same time, Dean realizes that Cas knows _exactly_ what’s causing Dean’s weird behavior, because it’s affecting Cas, too. It’s just less obvious, and Dean wonders if Cas is as nervous as he is.  
   
“—I’ll help you with it if I can,” Cas finishes. The lights from cabin’s windows are reflected in Cas’s eyes, glistened off his wet lips. They’re chapped, as usual, but they’re enticing to Dean, and he finds himself angling toward them. Cas licks his lips again, parting them slightly, tilting his head up—  
   
The cabin door swings open, Sam illuminated in the doorway. “You guys coming in or not? I wanna get dinner start—”  
   
Dean and Cas jerk apart.  
   
There’s caution in Sam’s tone when he speaks next, though Dean can’t make out his expression in the dark. “…Am I interrupting something?”  
   
Shaking his head, Dean grabs the beer from where he’d set it on the Impala. “No, Sam. We’re fine.” He looks back at Cas, sheepish, and lowers his voice. “I’m fine, Cas. Really. It’s okay.”  
   
And damn it all if there’s not a pink tint to Cas’s cheeks. Cas nods gravely, squares his shoulders, and leads the way inside. As they pass Sam, Dean meets his wary look and, feeling bold, winks at him. The concern in his little brother’s face fades into something unimpressed, complete with an eye roll.  
   
Sam makes spaghetti for dinner and insists that if they’re going to watch anime films, he wants to watch his favorite. Dean’s proud that Sam even has a favorite, so he allows him to queue up _Princess Mononoke_ and squeezes between Sam and Cas on the couch. The opening credits start and he leans against Cas’s side, feeling content. His belly is full of good food, there’s good entertainment, a comfortable spot to rest, and he’s surrounded by family. He doesn’t often get moments like this, so he doesn’t take it for granted.  
   
No one seems to notice when Cas tentatively shuffles in place, or when his arm settles over Dean’s shoulder. Jack is digging for another Twizzler out of the plastic package, Sam is idly picking at the hole forming in his jeans, but neither so much as looks their way. Dean peeks at Cas out of the corner of his eye and spies another of Cas’s blushes. He’s never really seen Cas act shy, not in the face of human misunderstandings or even when he talked about losing his virginity to April, and yet the simple act of holding Dean is somehow different to Cas. He’s bashful, anxious if the way he’s gnawing at his lip is any indication, and Dean kind of wants to see more of it.  
   
It’s been over ten years since he and Cas had that first fateful meeting in that barn. Sparks literally flew, and to be frank, Dean had been utterly terrified at the time. An all-powerful being walked in those doors, one that struck fear in demons, blinded Pamela, and knocked Bobby out with a mere touch. The creature saw right through Dean, called him out on his bullshit insecurities, and Dean wanted to hate him. He wanted to, but couldn’t. He was fascinated.  
   
Time passed, and Dean had watched firsthand as Castiel softened into who he is today. There were ups and downs, an apocalypse or two, and all the while, Cas changed. He learned how to feel, how to express those feelings, and followed his heart. Dean changed, too, into a man less afraid of his own emotions, more confident in himself and those around him. Neither of them would ever be perfect—both were wracked with guilt over the past, both too stubborn, Dean quick to anger and Cas too honest—but they’d been through it all together.  
   
Things between them were changing again. Dean would be kidding himself if he said it was a new thing, the way he feels about Cas. Cas returning those feelings isn’t news to him, either. Hell, it’s been such a long time, Dean’s pretty sure _Sam_ knows, too. There’s just never been time, between Lucifer rising and angels falling, prophets and tablets, souls and the Darkness. Cas was human for a time, and Dean fantasized about it then, but Metatron and the Mark of Cain made sure it was just that—fantasy. He considered it again when Amara ran off with God, when the British Men of Letters were their biggest problems, but another thing came up. Something was _always_ coming up. His life was one shitstorm after the other.  
   
These last few months put things into perspective more than anything else had. They’d lost Cas _again_. They’d burned his body, and Dean had never felt so helpless. Nothing got through to him, filled the pit in his stomach. Sam tried to be there for him, and Billie wouldn’t let him die. He’s glad for that now, when he thinks of how his whole _world_ went from bleak to bright the moment he saw Cas standing by that payphone. Cas was alive, warm and solid when Dean pulled him into a hug, and Dean struggled to understand why he’d ever let anything come between them. He had an epiphany then. It wasn’t so much _I love Cas_ as it was _I’ve wasted so much time_.  
   
Since then, Dean’s been thinking about it, going back and forth between shoving it deep down and yanking it to the surface. Dodge City was amazing, not just because Cas was back, but because Dean didn’t feel the need to hide how happy it made him.  
   
_“We got Cas back. That’s a pretty damn big win.”_  
   
He wasn’t holding back anymore, and he was working up to something—he wasn’t sure what—but Jack’s accident with the security guard had a put a halt to it. Cas being away had put a bit of a damper on that, but the renewed frequency in which they talked lessened the ache a bit. He knows he normally talks to Cas often—more than Sam, at least—but it’d never quite been daily before. And then Cas sent The Text, and he later sent a text of his own, and now here they were.  
   
They’ve got what amount to the cheesiest date plans tomorrow, have been calling each other laughable pet names, and Dean’s leaning into Cas’s side with his arm around his shoulder. It’s a far cry from trying to stab Cas like that first meeting. It’s different from the side by side, fighting the good fight, demon smiting and healing battle wounds. And it’s better than the short-lived moments of domesticity, where Dean would force Cas to watch cowboy movies and Cas would help Dean with mundane chores. This is all that, the same old thing, but in a different shade—a brighter, warmer shade. It’s the same but new—wondrous.  
   
And Dean’s not gonna stop now that they’ve got the ball rolling. He couldn’t even if he wanted to.  
   
On the screen, the forest spirit is transforming into the nightwalker, but neither he nor Cas are really paying attention. They’re not looking at each other, but Dean’s attention is on Cas, and Cas’s on him. There’s the muted brush of fabric when Dean’s sleeve slides against Cas’s shirt as he reaches across Cas’s torso. Cas’s hand is resting on his thigh, and Dean covers it with his own. There’s a small, sharp intake of breath from Cas, but then he’s turning his hand, and cautiously, he entwines their fingers.  
   
They stay like that for the rest of the movie.  
   
The next morning, Dean’s up with the sun. He hums while he makes up a couple sandwiches and fills thermoses with fresh coffee. Sam’s still sleeping, but Cas is outside with Jack. Dean doesn’t want to admit to the slight tingle of awe he feels at what they’re doing, but he can’t help the proud grin when they come back inside, shoulders damp with the light rainfall.  
   
“So you can control the weather now?” he quips as casually as he can manage.  
   
Jack smiles. “It’s not control so much as it’s…” He pauses, looking for the right word, then says decisively, “Redirection.”  
   
“Still awesome.”  
   
“We thank you for clearing that up before it got worse,” Cas says, patting Jack’s back, “Our walk will be far more pleasant now that the rain’s gone.”  
   
“Good.” Jack takes the sandwich Dean offers him and sits at the table. “When will you be back? I want to try making lunch, but I don’t know when to start.”  
   
“We shouldn’t be more than a couple hours,” Cas says, handing Dean one of the tote bags from last night’s grocery shopping.  
   
Dean puts the sandwiches in tupperware and packs them away in the bag, throwing in napkins and coffee creamer packets for Cas. Just in case, he shoves in the bag of bird food, too. “Don’t use the stove without Sam, okay?”  
   
One of the things Dean appreciates about Jack is that he doesn’t argue. He just accepts Dean’s request as reasonable and agrees to it. Moments later, Dean’s following Cas out the door. They double check the wards just in case, find everything to be the way it should be, and head out into the woods.  
   
They’re quiet, at first. Cas leads the way, having grown more familiar with the area in a shorter period of time than Sam and Dean ever had during their prolonged stay in Rufus’s cabin. Dean had a broken leg at the time—or that’s his excuse, anyway. In reality, Cas is far more thorough when scouting out a safe house. Dean feels a rush of pride at the thought. Cas is a soldier like Dean, but he’s a strategist, too. Widely checking the perimeter is second nature to Cas, and as they trek further uphill, Dean sees the symbols carved into the trees they pass, and adds _warding_ the outer perimeter to the growing list of ways Cas’s forward thinking impresses him.  
   
Cas impresses him in a lot of ways.  
   
He’s just beginning to wonder how far up the mountain Cas plans on taking him when Cas stops. Dean moves to stand beside him, and sees the small clearing Cas is looking at.  
   
“Will here work?” Cas asks.  
   
There’s trees on all sides, so it’s shaded against the morning sun, but there’s a large rock for them to sit on. As Dean approaches it, he sees down the other side of the small crest. The trees thin out enough to allow a decent view as the forest continues on downward, and Dean can easily see into the trees. He hears the birdsong before he sees any of them, but once he notices one, he sees all the others. What he’s looking at is pure nature, birds fluttering around tree tops further down, perching on branches and bringing food back to nests. There’s not too many, but there’s enough of them that even Dean’s sure he’ll be entertained.  
   
He turns back to Cas. “Looks pretty damn good to me.”  
   
Cas smiles and joins Dean on the rock, both facing the downhill view. It’s big enough to fit both of them, but they have to sit close together. Dean would be lying if he said he didn’t like the feel of Cas’s bodyheat against his side. It chases off the early morning chill, and Dean’s not sure he’ll even need the coffee to warm up anymore, but he brings the thermoses out anyway. He’s just reaching out to hand one to Cas when Dean changes his mind. He’s well aware of Cas’s gaze on him as he fixes up Cas’s coffee, putting in creamer and sugar packets until it’s just the way he knows Cas likes it.  
   
Cas beams at him when he accepts the drink, sipping at it with a pleased expression. They watch the trees, Cas pointing out the bird species he likes, sharing facts he thinks Dean will find interesting. Dean surprises himself by asking questions, appreciating that Cas has an answer for all of them. Being as old as the dawn of time, Cas knows a lot of stuff about a lot of things, and Dean rarely tires of it.  
   
After the sandwiches are gone and the sun had made a decent ascent into the sky, Cas tucks his empty thermos away and asks his own question.  
   
“Dean,” he starts out, nerves apparent in the way he faces forward and keeps completely still, as if on edge of some kind of precipice.  
   
“Yeah?” Dean thinks he has an idea of what’s coming, and fear of the unknown has him looking away from Cas, staring at his boots, but he catches himself. This is _Cas_. He has nothing to fear from him, and just because things may change again, doesn’t mean it’s bad.  
   
He raises his head and looks directly at Castiel. He swallows, tugs on Cas’s arm, and says, “Look at me, Cas.”  
   
Cas does, blue eyes shimmering in the sunlight. There’s determination set in his jaw. “I…” He takes a deep breath and tries again. “I will understand if you ask me not to, but I… Would it be alright if I continue to call you ‘dear’?”  
   
A breeze rustles the leaves, sending a few cascading down to the forest floor. Songbirds chirp around them and the air is thick with the scent of morning dew. The rock they’re sitting on is hard and cool beneath them, Cas is warm at Dean’s side, and there’s a sense of surety building deep within Dean, surging up until he’s grinning at Cas.  
   
He shrugs, warmth in his chest, and says, “Only if I can still call you ‘sweetheart’.”  
   
Cas’s answering grin is enough to give Dean the confidence to lean forward. Their lips brush tentatively, Cas’s hands coming up to grip Dean’s shirt. Dean pauses there, but then Cas is pushing forward, mouth firm against Dean’s, and it’s like breathing. There’s no fireworks, no sparks, but there is an easiness there that Dean’s never felt before. His whole life has been a struggle, but this is straightforward. This is him, and this is Cas, and this is them together.  
   
Cas’s hands find their way to Dean’s nape, thumbs brushing Dean’s jaw, and Dean shivers. He moves closer, pulling Cas flush against him. The kiss is leisurely, lasting forever and not long enough. When it ends, they pull apart but don’t separate. Dean’s not ready to let Cas go, not yet.  
   
“That…” Cas seems at a loss for words. “I’ve wanted that for so long.”  
   
Dean can’t seem to stop smiling today, and now is no exception. “Me, too.”  
   
“It’s not just for today, is it?” Cas asks. “This isn’t just some moment we’re going to have and then later, pretend it didn’t happen, right?”  
   
“Not unless that’s what you want,” Dean says, sliding his arms underneath the trenchcoat, seeking Cas’s warmth.  
   
“It’s not.” Cas shakes his head. “But I’m not… I’m worried this won’t last.”  
   
There’s doubt in Cas’s tone, and it dims Dean’s mood. “Why?”  
   
“Because it’s taken so long to get here.” Cas isn’t looking away, and Dean sees the hope in his expression, but he also sees the aches of the past.  
   
Dean wants to smooth all the pain away. “Things have changed,” he answers, “You’re stuck with me for life, bud— _sweetheart_.”  
   
Cas smiles at the correction.  
   
Dean winks at him. “I’m not the asshole you pulled out of hell, Cas. I mean, I am—”  
   
“You are,” Cas teases.  
   
“—but I’ve grown up a lot since then. I’ve learned to appreciate what I’ve got, and recently, I’ve realized how much time I’ve wasted. I’m a hunter, and our lifespans are short. I don’t wanna waste anymore.”  
   
Cas runs his hand through Dean’s hair, either smoothing it out or messing it up or just because he _can_. “You’ll live a long life if I have any say.”  
   
“And you do,” Dean affirms, leaning into Cas’s touch. “To Sam and I, you’re family.”  
   
“The feeling is mutual.”  
   
“But to me, you’re also…” Dean doesn’t know how to say that he loves Cas, but he tries. “You’re that, but you’re also more. In a different way. I—I need you differently than I need Sam, or mom, or Jack. Not less, just different.”  
   
“That feeling is also mutual.”  
   
Dean senses Cas’s amusement, but he can see that he understands, too. Cas always did see straight through Dean’s bullshit. He feels sheepish, suddenly, and ducks his head, pressing it against Cas’s shoulder. He’s grinning again. His cheeks are starting to hurt from all this damn smiling.  
   
Cas pets his hair, and Dean’s starting to think that’s gonna be a _thing_ with Cas. Soft touches, intimate and affectionate—it fits Cas. And Dean’s not gonna tell him to stop.  
   
“I know I’ve said it before, so it should come as no surprise,” Cas says, other arm wrapping around Dean’s shoulders, “but I do share your sentiments. I _love_ you, Dean.”  
   
Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just presses his face against Cas’s neck and holds on. They stay like that for a while, longer than Dean will admit to, but it’s been a long time coming and he can’t be blamed for wanting to draw this moment out. He doesn’t pull away until his leg starts to cramp and his back tinges with the beginnings of an ache.  
   
They’re halfway back to the cabin when Dean chuckles to himself.  
   
“What is it?” Cas asks, palm sliding into Dean’s.  
   
Dean could get used to that. “Just thinkin’ ‘bout how glad I am you sent The Text.”  
   
Cas tilts his head and squints at him. “What text?”  
   
“The first time you called me ‘dear’.”  
   
“Oh, yes. That.” Cas shrugs. “It was accidental.”  
   
Stopping in his tracks, Dean whirls around to face Cas. “What?”  
   
“I didn’t mean to. I was sure you’d be angry with me for it.”  
   
“So… it was a typo?” Dean asks, eyes wide.  
   
“No. The phone thought it was _correcting_ a typo.” Cas digs in his pocket and pulls out his phone, the new one Sam had given him upon his resurrection. He unlocks it, opens a message, types in Dean’s name, hits the space bar, and autocorrect changes it right before Dean’s eyes. _Dean_ becomes _Dear_.  
   
Dean looks up at Cas. “So you didn’t mean to call me that at _all_.”  
   
“Well,” Cas says, tucking the phone away, “Not the first few times.”  
   
“Meaning…?”  
   
“Meaning, after you didn’t react angrily, I may have done it on purpose a few times.”  
   
“A lot of times.”  
   
“Imagine my surprise when you called me ‘sweetheart’.”  
   
Dean raises his eyebrows. “So this whole thing, me and you—” He motions back and forth between them. “It started because of autocorrect?”  
   
Cas’s amused smile is back. “I suppose so.”  
   
He drops his arms. “Well, fuck. Never thought I’d be grateful for _autocorrect_.”  
   
Cas takes his hand again and gives it a squeeze. “I’m not complaining.”  
   
Dean rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna be the romantic sap in this relationship, aren’t you?”  
   
“Only when you’re not.”  
   
They make it back to the cabin just as Jack and Sam finish making lunch. Dean’s face heats up so much, he’s pretty sure is face is on fire with the intensity of his blush, but he doesn’t release Cas’s hand. Sam gives their clasped hands a raised eyebrow and sends Dean a smug look, but doesn’t say thing. Like Dean thought, Sam isn’t surprised in the least. Fucker.  
   
Jack dishes out some Hamburger Helper while Sam passes around bottles of water. They sit at the small table in the kitchen, and Cas tells them about the birds they saw that morning. They end up playing another game of cards, this time a few rounds of Bullshit. Cas’s poker face is impeccable, but so is Sam’s. The only reason Dean makes it further into the game than Sam is because he knows Sam’s tells so well. Cas ends up winning, but Jack insists on learning more card games, so they go right on into a round of Blackjack.  
   
Dean taps out early on, claiming he’s gross from the hike and wanting a shower. It’s partially true, but if he’s honest to himself, he’s also kind of hoping Cas will join him in bed later. He wants his first time with Cas to go well, regardless of whether it happens tonight or not. He finds that he’s in no rush for it but wants to be ready anyway.  
   
When he leaves the bathroom, hair damp and clad in a pair of flannel sweats and a t-shirt, he finds Cas waiting for him in the kitchen.  
   
“Where’s Sam ‘n’ Jack?” Dean asks, going for the fridge. He pulls out a beer and leans against the counter, pressing his shoulder against Cas’s.  
   
“Outside,” Cas says, accepting a bottle from Dean. He takes a swig. “Jack is trying to clear the rainclouds. He wants to stargaze.”  
   
“Huh.” Dean looks out the window, seeing the partly-cloudy night sky. “Haven’t done that in a while.”  
   
“Do you know any constellations?” Cas asks.  
   
“Some. Mostly stuff related to lore.”  
   
“You should teach them to Jack. He’d like it, and you’re a good storyteller.”  
   
Dean shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”  
   
“Thanks,” Cas says sincerely, leaning over and pecking Dean on the cheek. He pulls away, smiling, then frowns. “Was that okay?”  
   
Ducking his head to hide his grin, Dean chuckles. “Yeah, Cas. That was good.”  
   
“I’d like to do it again, then.”  
   
Sam comes in a few minutes later and gets an eyeful of his brother and Cas, leisurely lip-locked in the dimly lit kitchen. Dean doesn’t blush too much.  
   
When they all resettle outside, Jack and Sam reclined on Cas’s sedan, and Dean and Cas on the Impala, things between the four of them haven’t changed much. Jack sends the two of them curious looks, but is more focused on what Dean has to say about Orion rather than how Dean’s leaning back against Cas’s chest. Sam teases Dean like any little brother would, but it’s dialed back a bit, letting Dean get comfortable and cozy in the new shape his relationship with Cas has taken. And Cas is still there at his side, like usual, just a little bit closer now.  
   
The change is there, fresh and new, but not unwelcome. It’s subtle. All of the usual problems are still there—monsters need to be hunted, Mary needs to be saved, Jack needs to be taught, angels and demons need to be kept at bay—but for now, they’re muted. Under the stars, it’s just Dean and his family, safe and sound. For now, Dean basks in it.  
   
For now, he’s happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos/comments if you enjoyed. Thank you for reading! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*✲ﾟ*｡⋆


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